


Darkest Desires

by VictoriaWitch



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Hospital, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angels, Angst, Demons, Enemies, F/M, Female Reader, Hate Sex, Masturbation, Reapers, Semi-Public Sex, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:34:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27275779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VictoriaWitch/pseuds/VictoriaWitch
Summary: Ushijima Wakatoshi is the Angel of Death, taking over after his father is executed for saving the life of a human rather than reaping her soul. Once establish as the new leader of the Reapers, Ushijima decides to enact his own form of revenge against the girl responsible for his father's death; you.TW: a bit of knife and blood play
Relationships: Ushijima Wakatoshi/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 55





	Darkest Desires

**Author's Note:**

> This is for a collab I did! The plot has been in my mind for two years now. This fic is looong! There's so much detail I left out, but if the oneshot seems to get enough love, I'll turn it into a multi chapter fic!  
> Also, catch a continuation of this plot coming for the Yato Writing Event!

_ “You’re home late,” you grunt, tiny voice slurred with residual sleep. You rub at your eyes with the side of your fist, groggily staring down your bewildered father. In your quest to wait for him to return from work, you had fallen asleep on the couch. He was never one to be late, at least not without giving some indication of his late arrival to your mother, who would share her knowledge with you. Tonight had been different, there was no warning given, leaving you a nervous wreck waiting to discover where your father was. In an effort to placate you and ease whatever budding anxieties you held; your mother had told you not to fret. “He’s a remarkable surgeon, sweetie. He probably got pulled into surgery and didn’t have time to notify us,” was her final remark before urging you to get some sleep. Of course, the moment you heard her bedroom door click shut from down the hall, you scurried to the living room to anxiously await his arrival.  _

_ You were the definition of a daddy’s girl, he was your number one, your best friend. Whereas most children would whine and plead for toys, all you wanted was to occupy whatever free time he had. He was always willing to comply, allowing you to dress him up, make him sit at your tiny tea table with you and your plushies. When you would take trips to the park, he’d venture through the forest with you, helping you to capture bugs, frogs, and any other creature that sparked your interest. He taught you to ride a bike and how-to fish, even if you refused to be the one to bait the hook. Despite his busy schedule as a surgeon, he never missed a school performance or one of your gymnastic classes. If he loved you enough to never miss out on a single aspect of your life, you’d love him enough to wait for him every night.  _

_ He continued to stare at you owlishly, mouth partially gaped open at you, as if he couldn’t believe you were talking to him. You pout, dropping your hands into your lap as the silence stretches too long for your comfort and impatience. “Daddy, why- “ _

_ “You can- you can see me?” He chokes out, voice raspy and breathless at the realization.  _

_ Wide eyes batting in confusion, you nod at his odd question, “how else would I be talking to you?”  _

_ “S-sweetie,” his form begins to shake as he inches closer, oval eyes squinting in an effort to fight back the oncoming tears that blur the corners of his vision. He crouches down in front of the couch, his hands gripping his knees as he makes a quick glance down the darkened hallway, “you should be in bed.”  _

_ Shaking your head, you mumble out, “wanted to wait for you.”  _

_ “Your mother, is she asleep?” You nod with a yawn, struggling to fight off the urge to close your lead-heavy lids. _

_ As if the universe was scorned by your answer, it set out to prove you wrong. A sliver of light flickered on behind you, barely illuminating the pitch-black hall. A few moments of silence ticked by, a blanket of tension engulfing you as you watched your father’s face drain of all color. Just as you moved to ask him what was wrong, an inhuman noise bounced through the quiet house. Akin to something between a blood-curdling shriek and a deafening sob. Your father shot to his full height, frozen like a statue in place, unable to tear his focus away from his own bedroom. Even you could hear the frenzied way your mother was moving about, her soft sobs and wheezing barely evening out by the time she ripped her door open. _

_ “(Name)! (Name), sweetie!”  _

_ “I’m in here, mama!” You call before she can make it to the end of the hall, where your room resides. Her footfalls are quick and heavy, a drastic contrast to her usual step pattern of soft and collected.  _

_ “Oh, honey. We need to go. I- I have to take you- oh, god, where am I going to take you?” She begins to mutter to herself, whipping out her cell phone before furiously scrolling through the device.  _

_ Sitting up, you furrow your brows at her, “why do I have to go somewhere?”  _

_ “It’s, um,” she fumbles over her words, voice cracking as her throat constricts in a feeble effort to conceal the building sobs, “it’s your father.” _

_ Terror floods his tear-stained orbs as you look between your two parents, dumbstruck by your mother’s anguish and panic. Before he can stop you, the words come out smooth and even, the faintest trace of confusion laced in the words, “he’s right here.”  _

_ Her face contours, a grimace of excruciation painting her expression. A long sigh escapes her lips, the hand holding her phone dropping as she contemplates how to proceed. Your father knows what’s going through her mind, it’s the same thing they both thought the numerous times you claimed to talk to someone neither could see. “I want you to tell her something for me, okay?”  _

_ You nod, allowing your father to continue before regurgitating his words back to your mother, “daddy says he was on his way home when it happened.” You pause, absorbing his story before proceeding, “he just wanted to be home, it was a long day. A hard day. He knows you always tell him not to speed, but he just wanted to get home.” She says nothing in return, rooted in place with a hand over her mouth as she listens to you unwittingly tell her about the car crash that took your father’s life. The one police just called and informed her of.  _

_ Tears stream down her cheeks, collecting along the back of her hand as she shuffles closer to you, certain that you’re yet to understand everything happening. Her voice is muffled, mouth still covered in shock, as she stands directly beside your father. In a normal instance, she’d be staring him straight in the eyes, but now, she looks clean through him. “H-he’s really here?”  _

_ “There,” you point to the empty space she’s locked on to. A fresh wave of tears cascades down, a choked cry tearing from the back of her throat as she begins to ramble about being sorry, about not being enough, and about how much she loves him. Your father cries just as heavily as her, his own words of reassurance and love going entirely unheard by the woman who needed to hear them most.  _

_ Your attention is stolen by a figure lurking in the distance, partially hidden by the shadows in a house bearing no light. But you can see him from the moonlight that seeps in from the window of the front door. Even from your spot on the couch, you can tell his entire focus is on your father.  _

_ “I think someone is here for you,” you whisper to your grieving father, nodding your head towards the unknown man.  _

_ “What?” Your mother whispers back, only falling silent when she realizes you were not speaking to her.  _

_ Your father turns his head, a soft frown etching into his lips as he drinks in the appearance of the newcomer, “Utsui-san.”  _

_ “Utsui?” You question, slipping off the couch and creeping into the space directly between your father and the man he called Utsui. _

_ “Ah, so she can communicate with us. Interesting.” His dark gaze falls explicitly to you, “Utsui Takashi. You must be Ajisaki (Name).”  _

_ “I am.” Your cheeks puff, tiny arms folding over your chest, “what do you want?”  _

_ Utsui chuckles, amused by your youthful defiance towards the inevitable. It’s the first time a mortal has seen him without him allowing it to happen, and the fire in you is too bright to avoid. “I’m here to take your father to his new job. He’ll be working with me.” The sandy brunette steps forward, allowing you to finally see him completely. He had a bulky build that would seem intimidating if not for the gentle smile and natural warmth that radiates from his eyes. “He’ll be helping those like him, lost in the world after meeting the end of their time, to move on.”  _

_ The words take a minute to settle, for your innocent mind to make sense of. Ultimately, you smile, glancing back at your fear-stricken father before looking at Utsui once more, “so, he’ll still get to help people?” Utsui’s smile widens as he hums in confirmation. You nod, face set in absolution, “then I’m fine if he has to go.” _

_ You know how much your father loves to save and help those in need. If he could be selfless enough to spend his life, and afterlife, still caring for those who needed him most, you could be selfless enough to let him go.  _

**~*~*~*~*~**

He stared down at the file on his desk, the resume on it with a picture clipped to the top. All the forms that had been signed; every communication tucked neatly into the packet right behind that first page. His fingered rapped against the polished wood of his desk, jaw clenched impossibly tight as his olive glare roved over the picture. The intensity of his stare threatening to burn a hole through the glossy paper. He knew this day would come, he _begged_ for this day to come, and now that it was here his emotions were a whirlwind. Anxious excitement had filled him the moment the job application came through, that poisonous name typed across the top like a red flag. A caution against his malicious plan. Instead, Ushijima viewed it as a sign of fortune in his favor. 

The plan was devised years ago, formulated his desire to return the suffering and brutal helplessness he had felt for so long. His excitement had boiled out to scathing hatred more than a few times, constantly sending him into a cold bluntness that seemed far harsher than his usual self. His stoic demeanor was something everyone in the hospital had grown accustomed to, but there was something about him over the past week that pushed him from stoic to silent madness. He kept himself occupied and walled-off, shielding his emotions from those around him. Ushijima had never been one to express many emotions or engage in frivolous conversation. His extreme lack of social skills went majorly unnoticed. At least, by the hospital staff, anyway. 

He knew the name on the paper all too well. He knew  _ you  _ the moment your application was delivered to his desk. Not in the sense an employer knows an employee or even the way the Chief of Surgery knows their newest doctor. Ushijima knew everything there was to know about you, or rather, the things that mattered to him most. His extensive knowledge of you consisted of your name, what you look like, and the fact that you are the bane of his existence. You had earned that title when he was just a child, watching his family get torn apart over the life of a mere mortal. 

**~*~*~*~*~**

_Ushijima stood in the backyard of his family home, repeatedly smacking a volleyball against the wall. It was something he and his father could enjoy together in their free time. Something beyond being groomed as the next Angel of Death, beyond studying to become a surgeon, beyond all the extraordinary dreams his mother wished for him to pursue. Of course, his father wanted nothing but the best for his son, but he also knew to focus on what made the boy happy. He focused on preserving his childhood, letting him be curious and relatively innocent. The world was muddled enough without the supernatural aspects that clouded their life, Utsui didn’t see the sense in dulling life even more by turning the child into a machine._

_ His ball ricocheted off the side of the house, bouncing back towards him. This time, he didn’t bother to pick it up, allowing it to roll past as he listened to the boisterous voices coming from inside. Hearing an argument erupt between his parents was not uncommon, their relationship left much to be desired and the tension from their lack of gratification from the other kept them on constant edge. His mother’s voice was different, though. Normally, even as her voice raised, it maintained a flat, collected tone that never faltered. Ushijima could hear the exasperation from her, even if the words were muffled so that he could not understand what was being said. “I just need to see him!” Finally came his father’s voice, loud and clear as a bell in the dead of night.  _

_ Utsui didn’t make it far into the backyard before two flashes of white followed him out. Ushijima’s mother quickly followed suit, instead, moving to stand beside her son, a hand placed in front of him as if to shield him from being taken.  _

_ “Ukai-san? Nekomata-san?” Ushijima questioned, staring at the two men that shielded him from being able to see his father. Neither of the men dares to answer, let alone look in Ushijima’s direction. Nekomata moves, his sandy blonde locks swaying across his forehead in choppy waves as he secures a blinding material around Utsui’s wrists. Instinctively, Ushijima knows what they are. _

_ Angel cuffs, made from the essence of the divine beings. Powerful enough to nullify most supernatural being’s abilities. There are not many in existence, the need to use them rarely, and considered for only the most dangerous, powerful creatures. To see them used on another Angel is rare, practically unheard of.  _

_ Ukai glances to Ushijima-san, his hazel orbs conveying his uncertainty of answering her son. “Ikkei-san, Yasufumi-san,” she moves back, standing behind the tiny brunette boy with a hand on his shoulder, “he deserves to know.”  _

_ With a sigh, Ukai brushes his ebony locks back, willing the nerve to confess. Normally, he would refuse, but he knows there is no point. If they don’t tell him, his mother or someone else will. “Ushijima-kun,” he squats down in an attempt to match the boy’s height, “your father saved a girl today. A human who was on the list of souls to be collected.”  _

_ “That is his job.”  _

_ Nekomata quietly snickers, amused at the deadpan way Ushijima replied. Ukai feigns a laugh of exasperation, “you’re correct, but he restored her soul.”  _

_ “Oh,” it comes out curt, his deep green orbs shifting over to glance at his father’s back.  _

_ “You understand what that means?”  _

_ “I do.” Of course, he did. Even at eight years old, Ushijima knew what tampering with the natural order implied. Ukai nodded before stepping back in place beside Utsui, Nekomata on the other. Ushijima watched in silent helplessness as the two heavenly officials detained his father, both linking one of their arms with Utsui before beginning to guide him away. There was no need to question where they planned to take him, or what they would do to him. There was only one penalty for the disruption of the order. Death.  _

_ Two pairs of white wings, pure and untainted by righteous morality, unfurled to block the little glimpse Utsui tried to take over his shoulder. His fleeting attempt to see his boy one last time. Their feathered appendages fluttered, carrying them from the ground and towards the horizon. Ushijima watched as the three Angels grew smaller the closer they traveled to the cloud, whispering out a barely audible, “why?”  _

_ Instinctively, his mother knew what he was questioning. Ushijima was smart enough to know why his father was being detained, what the implications of his actions entailed for his future. He just couldn’t fathom  _ **_why_ ** _ his father would do it. “The girl he saved, she’s a child, like you. Younger.”  _

_ Ushijima turns his head, looking at his mother over his shoulder, “he’s collected children before.”  _

_ “Yes, but she belongs to his favorite. Apparently, that meant she was special enough to save.” Ushijima watches as her lips curl in a grimace, her nose wrinkling at the mere thought. “Important enough to give his life and work for.” Ushijima knew exactly who she was talking about. His father’s favorite Reaper, Ajisaki Ryuu, the best to grace the Heavens in over a thousand years. The man was favored by all, other Reapers, the Angels, even a few demons, and other dark dwellers of the supernatural had grown to respect him. Utsui had even gone as far as to claim Ajisaki was his closest friend, the title remaining even after a demon ended his afterlife.  _

_ “What happens now?”  _

_ “Another Reaper will take over.”  _

_ “Who?” _

_ “Washijo, most likely. I’ll be consulting him until you’re of age to take over.” Ushijima nods, an unspoken agreement to his mother’s decision. There are plenty of Reapers to choose from, Ushijima and his mother familiar with nearly all of them. In an effort to ensure Ushijima would become the best Death anyone had seen, she had him study every current Reaper to exist. They were easy to track, all agreeing to and signing a contract with the Angel of Death before beginning their service. Reapers are their own category of supernatural beings, not considered Angel nor Demon. This made it easier for stronger monsters to kill them, an issue Utsui believed would lead to a decline in the numbers of Reapers. In layman's terms, they were stable souls. Unable to pass on to Heaven, or Hell, trapped in a state of balanced limbo. Neutrality at it’s finest when in relation to the undead.  _

_ Due to their lack of supremacy in the supernatural order, not once in the history of soul collecting had a Reaper been put in charge. The Angel of Death always held command over the collection and proper distribution of souls, ensuring the recently departed arrived at their respective destination. He would not deliver them, but there were specific entities he could contact to make sure everything was running smoothly. But now, Death was on his way to face execution, and his only successor, his adolescent son, was far too young to step up.  _

_ Turning around, Ushijima stood directly before his mother, head held high as their eyes locked. “I will be as good of a leader as dad.”  _

_ She hums, reaching a hand out to gently cup his chin, “you’ll be better.” Ushijima knows the words are not of encouragement, but of demand. She was never impressed with the behaviors of her husband, even if they were more than satisfactory compared to what any other Death had done. No, her Ushijima would be better. He would be the best, nothing less than perfect.  _

**~*~*~*~*~**

Nineteen years had passed since then, and his confusion on the situation had been warped into wicked hatred. His indifference towards you was twisted, corrupted by his mother’s disdain towards his father and guising it as blame on the ‘silly human’ he saved. His entire childhood was filled with his mother’s venomous opinion of you, clouding any sense of reality he could have ever hoped to gain over the tragic events. In the end, her brutal sentiment wore off on him. He never realized how little interest she had in you. She had used your name a handful of times in the beginning, but after the first month following Utsui’s execution, she could hardly remember what the first letter of your name was. It mattered none to Ushijima because _he_ remembered your name. He engrained it into his consciousness so vigorously it haunted his subconscious. 

The bitterness felt inevitable, even without his mother’s insistent slander of you. If his mother had any deeper reasoning as to why his father felt the need to sacrifice his life for yours, she never told him. Even as he became older and developed his own webs of connections to gather information, he remained in the dark as to the truth of his father’s will. He doubted anyone beyond his father, Ukai, and Nekomata knew the truth. The Angels had dragged Utsui away before he had a chance to ever glance at Ushijima, and it wasn’t like the halo graced beings to go out of their way to present information. Their job was not to answer questions but to maintain order and detain those who broke it. 

There was one person he could count on for certainty that would answer any inquiries Ushijima had. Ajisaki. Unfortunately, he had been dead months prior to the incident, leaving Ushijima without a single guide towards the light of truth. A few times too many, Ushijima had ventured to the Ajisaki residence. He would lurk outside as if staring at the humble abode would somehow ignite words never spoken. He often contemplated knocking on the door, confronting Ryuu’s widow, and questioning her for information. The effort seemed fruitless. Of all the times he had lingered outside your house, nothing out of ordinary happened. No Angels, Demons, or other inhuman forces visited. Your mother never paid him a single glance, completely oblivious to his existence. A handful of times you had looked at him, but just as quickly as your eyes met, they looked away. 

His curiosity got the better of him, encouraging him to place traps for the supernatural outside your house. If no one was informing you of the happenings in the unseen, unspoken mysteries of the world, you had to be part of it yourself. But every trap failed, not a single one activating. All he proved was that you and your mother were undoubtedly, completely human. The reality was disappointing just as much as it was a relief. Being human-made enacting his revenge easier. 

Being considered neutralized souls, Reapers are able to sustain their personality and behaviors as if they were human. Regular souls, the type Reapers collect, are far more fragile. If they go too long without being collected and sent to their final destination, they become stuck in limbo. Limbo for wandering souls warps their personality, making them agitated and aggressive. Some souls, if left for too long, can become a dark entity all their own. Twisted, demented monsters of their worst creation. Most souls were eager to move on, actively seeking out a Reaper to harvest them. This is where his act of vengeance comes into play. An override of the system designed to make soul collection as smooth and flawless as possible. Ushijima had no fear of being reprimanded for his plotted action, he could simply brush it off as desperation to increase the number of Reapers.

His mother could deny Utsui was a wonderful Death until she was blue in the face, but one thing no one could refuse was that the man knew exactly what he was talking about when it came to his Reapers. Five years following his demise, the number of Reapers began to drastically decline. With Reapers being one of the easiest supernaturals to kill, and no true Angel of Death to make contracts for new ones to emerge, the numbers began to dwindle down. 

“If you clench any harder, your teeth will crack,” a voice chides from the doorway. Ushijima frowns, his face devoid of any humor as he stares down the copper-toned brunette. 

“What is it, Shirabu?”

“Jeeze,” he strides into the office, quietly closing the door behind him as he enters. “You can  _ at least  _ call me doctor while we’re here.” 

“Shirabu-“ 

“Alright,” he puts his hands up, a gesture to signal he relents to the much more powerful being. “I came to see how you were doing. She starts tomorrow, correct?” Ushijima grunts in response, glancing down once more at the picture attached so perfectly to his file. Shirabu smirks lightly, nodding as he comes to the opposite side of the desk, staring down at the picture. “She’s pretty. I’ve heard she’s quite talented. Already started a buzz with the staff.” 

“I’m not concerned with her skill as a doctor.” 

“Right, right.” All of the Reapers were aware of Ushijima’s plan, especially those that worked in the hospital with him. Shirabu played as a human doctor, much like Ushijima. While both were more than qualified to fulfill their duties as medical professionals, no one knew that both were not human. There were only two others he trusted enough to act as human employees in the hospital, Semi, and Tendo. Ohira was offered a position at the hospital but promptly refused. He enjoyed working in the dark, being able to travel to other locations when needed, and not have a secondary -unnecessary- job to occupy his time. 

Shirabu takes a seat in one of the chairs across from Ushijima, “what has you so stressed?” 

“I’m not -“ Ushijima stops himself, glancing down at his hand. His left thumb had been tracing against your picture absentmindedly, the force enough to smudge the ink and wear down the glossy shine. “I don’t know.” 

Shirabu hums curiously, his fingers tapping against his thigh as he thinks. He had known Ushijima for quite a few years, long enough to pick up on when the man was deep in his own thoughts, but not enough to figure out what made him tick so severely. His immediate reasoning fell to you, as nothing else in their lives was changing. But for the life of him, Shirabu couldn’t figure out why your arrival would have Ushijima in such an incoherent state. His act of defiance against you was something he took pride in, had looked forward to, and desperately awaited. There was no doubt this was what Ushijima wanted, he would not fall back on his plans. At a loss on how to proceed, he sighs in defeat, “you should talk to Tendo.” 

“Why?” 

“He understands you better than even you do.” 

Ushijima grunts, unwilling to verbally confirm the claim. Knowing he’s right, Shirabu stands, straightening his white coat before bowing his head and exiting the office without another word. 

Finding the Chief of Surgery in the pediatric ward is practically unheard of, worried his towering size would frighten the tiny humans. But there he stands, shifting uneasily beside the nurses’ desk, eagle orbs scouring the floor for a mop of bright red locks. 

“Wakatoshi-kun,” Tendo sings, sauntering out of a room from down the hall, behind Ushijima. 

Ushijima turns with a small frown, not fond of the way Tendo refers to him so casually in a professional setting. Tendo rolls his eyes, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his maroon scrubs, “oh, lighten up. Everyone knows we’re best friends, Wakkun.” 

“Still,” Ushijima mutters gruffly, never looking away from the tall, lean Reaper. 

Tendo motions for Ushijima to follow him, heading towards the adjacent hallway from where they stand. He hesitates for a moment before complying, unaware of the redhead’s intentions. Based on the time and the iPad trapped tightly between Tendo’s bicep and chest, he was doing rounds. The idea of Tendo dragging Ushijima along to round on his adolescent patients made him weary, something Tendo was aware of. Tendo also knew, despite believing every living thing feared his immense size, children had a tendency to be drawn to Ushijima. 

Knowing whatever the towering male needed to talk about was important enough to disrupt him from work, Tendo guided him into an unoccupied room. Tendo waits until the door clicks shut before he crosses his arms, vermillion eyes raking over the Angel before him. “It’s the Ajisaki girl, isn’t it?” 

“Perhaps.” 

“Hm,” his eyes roll dramatically as one of his hands fall to his hip. “Please, Wakatoshi, I’m not falling for it. She has you a mess. Why?” Ushijima doesn’t answer, but it matters none to Tendo. He has his own theory as to Ushijima’s odd behavior, “you’ve always followed the rules, haven’t you?” 

“Of course.” 

“You’re breaking one. For the first time. And not just a silly, human law rule, you’re breaking a code the Angel of Death swore to. You’re tampering with the behavior of the Reapers.” Reflecting on his friend’s assessment, Ushijima can’t help but feel a tinge of understanding. As if the thought that had been just out of his grasp finally floated into full view. It was true, he had followed the rules of Death, the Reapers, and soul collecting to the finest detail. He refused to be anything less than perfect, eager to fill his father’s shoes and even surpass the progress he made. But his ploy to ruin the life of a woman he never met could easily jeopardize his Reaper’s jobs and the souls that needed to be taken. The Reapers would still be present to collect, but not until after the souls had become restless and agitated. 

Ushijima’s ultimate goal was to do the one thing that had never been done before. Have a human sign their soul over to become a Reaper before they met the afterlife. You would be the first human Reaper to ever exist, something impossible and unheard of due to the torment it would cause the mortal. Reapers, already having moved beyond just the material plane, could see, interact, and properly handle the recently departed. Humans did not have such luck. Even the ones that managed to see or hear a spirit from time to time were wildly unable to communicate with any efficiency. Why was this the perfect method of revenge? Ushijima knew you, he knew your passion, your reason for becoming a doctor was to help those in need. He wanted you to feel the same, weighted sense of utter helplessness and despair he lived with following the execution of his father. He wanted to watch you suffer, realize how useless you were to these desperate beings that pleaded for you to send them to their final release. Watching you crumble under your inability to help, along with the growing madness of having the dead haunt and torment you, felt like a perfect punishment. You would never know what was happening, he had no intention of telling you or explaining anything in the slightest. No, he would watch from a distance as you slowly fell to mania, relish in the way you withered from a brilliant mind and surgeon to a blubbering heap of uncertainty. “It’s not that big of a deal, Wakkun.”

Tendo’s voice pulls Ushijima from his endless reverie, attention snapping back to the redhead. Seeing he has his focus once more, Tendo continues, “she won’t interrupt that much. We’ll all still be here to collect. This won’t throw anything off-kilter.” He giggles, stepping with an airy bounce to come a few inches away from the Chief, “or are you worried about catching  _ feelings _ ?” Ushijima scowls at the notion, only serving to spur Tendo on further. With a teasing hum and eyes narrowed in mirth, he saunters towards the door with a teasing comment that only digs under Ushijima’s skin like a bug burrowing through the dirt. “She is very pretty, Wakkun! ~” 

**~*~*~*~*~**

Sleeping, no matter how necessary it was, was something out of the question for you. Your night was filled with countless thoughts, excitement, and a biting anxiousness that made your stomach float with every flutter of butterfly wings. Every time you seemed to get comfortable, your lids heavy and brain foggy with exhaustion, a new scenario would worm its way into your wind, making any rest unattainable. As if starting a new job was not nerve-wracking enough, you would be strutting it on the first day with a whopping total of two hours of rest. In between tossing and turning while fighting your never-ending worries, the few times you did manage to fall asleep were quickly overcome with nightmares of all the ways you could embarrass yourself in front of your peers and patients.

Like a great oak riddled with termites, you caved under the determination of the parasites in your subconscious. What filled you with the most dread? Facing the formidable Ushijima Wakatoshi. You had heard a great deal about him from other doctors and nurses in your prior hospital but never had the chance to see or meet him for yourself. Described as formidable, commanding, strict, and inhumanly stoic, you knew meeting him would be nerve-wracking. All you could hope was to make a good impression and not get on his bad side, especially so early in your career at the esteemed Shiratorizawa Hospital.

By the time five in the morning rolled around, you accepted your fate of not falling asleep. With only thirty minutes until your alarm went off, the effort to catch even a few more minutes of rest felt futile. The extra half hour gave you time to decompress, allowing you to sit in the nook of your living room window, watching the sleeping world pass by in silence as you sip your tea. Getting ready for the day was the easy part, having showered right before bed, set out your outfit for the day, and even prepped the makeup you planned to use.

Painted in minimal, casual makeup and dressed in black dress pants and a gray, turtle-neck sweater that hugged your form beautifully, you were finally ready for your first day at your new job. At least, physically. Mentally, the toll of meeting your new boss was overbearing. He had quite a reputation, although you never heard of him being outright rude or aggressive towards anyone. Still, his blunt manner of speaking had a tendency of making him seem ruthlessly indifferent towards everything and everyone. Not that you were unaccustomed to the type, quite a few of the doctors you had met over the years were much more of a monster than Ushijima had been given the reputation of. It didn’t do much to curve the anxiety nipping at your nerves, though.

Slipping your shoes on at the door, you take a final glance around your apartment. As if it would be your last time seeing the inside of your home, you take a moment to appreciate all the little details you put it to make everything feel cozy and lived in. A silent reminder as to the sanctuary you had awaiting you after the first day in a new environment, a consistent in your changing life. With a final nod, you flick off the lights illuminating the room before exiting into the rest of the living world.

Enormous is the only way to describe it. Monumental, modern, and undoubtedly eye-catching. Made of piercing white exterior and endless slabs of glass that made the hospital look open and inviting. With a steadying breath and chin held high, you strut inside the famous Shiratorizawa Medical Center. The hospital has a repute that preceded even the infamous Chief of Surgery. From the time the hospital had been constructed, it had been one of the most sought-after places for doctors and other medical professionals to seek employment. Those who needed medical attention requested Shiratorizawa endlessly, eager to be taken care of by some of the most prestigious names in the field. Constantly being updated with the most current and up-to-date technology, the hospital was ranked as the most advanced in the prefecture. Not to mention the many cosmetic uplifts done to ensure the appearance of the hospital was constantly kept in top condition. Like a professional athlete, the hospital was diligently cared for with the best money could afford.

Shiratorizawa had been the goal, but coming straight out of medical school, you followed your best friend. You attended Seijo with Oikawa, the two of you quickly excelling in your fields and becoming the top in the respective departments. He was not surprised in the least when you were accepted for a position as a trauma surgeon at Shiratorizawa. Despite having enough skill to easily be employed, Oikawa refused to follow you. Having gone to medical school with Ushijima, Oikawa was the one to warn you about him and constantly riddled off any information he could offer on the man. Oikawa, too prideful to let the past stay in the past, would never concede to being considered Ushijima’s underling. You did not mind, having never encountered the man. Despite being in the same area, you and Oikawa attended different medical schools.

A deep breath of the crisp, autumn air is all that was required to push you to take the final steps forward, pushing you through the threshold and into the pristine hospital.

“Good morning,” a woman at the front desk chirps, a charming smile plastered to her face. Her ebony locks are pulled back in a low ponytail, dark eyes crinkled in a close-eyed smile behind her glasses. “How can I help you,” she asks as you finally come to a stop directly in front of the desk.

“Good morning! I’m here to meet Ushijima-san, my name is Ajisaki (Name).” The woman nods in return, lithe fingers working quickly across a keyboard as her orbs of the ocean’s depth scan across the screen in front of her.

“Hinata-kun,” an orange-haired male seated at the other end of the desk jumps to his feet, eager expression taking over at the call of his name. “Please show Ajisaki-san to Ushijima-san’s office.”

“Absolutely!” Hinata sways from behind the desk, waving for you to follow him as he exuberantly walks down the hall. While his height is not above average, the pep in his stride has you walking in a quickened tempo to keep up. He stops in front of an elevator, pressing the button to go up before finally turning to look at you. “It’s nice to meet you, Ajisaki-san! I’ve heard a lot about you!”

“Oh?” You can’t hide the surprise in your voice at his claim. Certainly, you had made a name for yourself at Seijo, but you never expected it to carry over to somewhere as significant as Shiratorizawa.

“You’ve been the talk of the hospital since we found out you’d be joining us!” His bright, chocolate stare watches as the elevator quickly descends to your floor, but his enthusiasm doesn’t let up in the slightest. “Everyone has been thrilled to have you here!”

You can’t help the bashful smile his praise brings, “that’s very sweet, but no one here has met me before. How do you know you’ll even want to work with me?”

“We’ve heard a lot about you from those at Seijo! Plus, Kageyama-kun went to medical school with you!”

“Kageyama works here?” It had been quite some time since you had seen him. Of course, he was always bitter about your friendship with Oikawa. You knew of their rivalry, but it did little to deter your friendship with either man. They rarely brought the other up to you, often preferring to keep the others’ names out of their mouth. As if merely saying it would scorch them like the ghastliest of burns. If not for the way they avoided each other like the plague, you would have thought their rivalry to be endearing. By now, you had grown to know better and made sure to never bring up their names in front of the other.

“Yeah!” Hinata motions for you to enter the lift, following you in right behind and hitting the button for the third floor. “He was surprised to hear you were leaving Seijo, but he said you’d do better here.” You simply nod, your anxiety climbing with the floors. The feeling of your pulse jumped against your jugular, throbbing as if the artery would jump free of your flesh. Blood pumping through your ears drowns out the sound of the ‘ _ ding’ _ to alert you the elevator has reached the appropriate floor. If not for the way Hinata’s vibrant orange locks bobbed in front of you as he stepped onto the floor, you would have remained rooted to the elevator tiles. “He always speaks so highly of you! So, everyone has been looking forward to having you on the team!” Silence greets him in return, but Hinata doesn’t seem to mind. He may not even notice, his lively chatting overshadowing your trepidation taking over.

The walk down the hallway feels like a lifetime, the walls stretching obnoxiously around you, warping to doors to accommodate the unrealistic imagery conjured from your nervousness. Oikawa had done little to help you feel prepared to face Ushijima. While he never explicitly said the man was intimidating, you knew he was. Oikawa hated him with a passion, and that alone was enough to make you tick. Even in knowing how petty Oikawa could be with his jealousy over those gifted with natural talent, it did nothing to make you feel more comfortable. All through medical school you watched and listened as Oikawa worked thrice as hard as Ushijima and Kageyama. His determination to reach the level they attained with graceful ease was admirable, his dedication to perfecting his craft remarkable. Oikawa had become a god-tier plastic surgeon, but something kept him from reaching his  _ exact  _ mark. Always teetering the line of perfection, just skimming the bullseye. His disdain towards Ushijima was only heightened by the many claims of peaking before his full potential being due to refusing to come work at Shiratorizawa.

Lost in thought, you nearly bump into Hinata’s back as he comes to a stop in front of a door. “Here we are!” He nods towards the large, smoke gray door separating you from the legend of a man. His name is written on the door, etched into a silver plate that reflects as if it was brand new. ‘ _ Ushijima Wakatoshi,’ _ it makes you gulp, a single bead of sweat rolling down the back of your neck before quickly absorbing into your top. Hinata smiles, placing a gentle hand against your shoulder, “don’t be worried! He can seem intimidating, but he’s a good guy!”

“Thank you, Hinata-san.” The graciousness is genuine, but the shakiness in your tone is still easily detectable. Hinata gives a quick, reassuring squeeze before quickly flitting back down towards the opposite end of the hall.

You take a moment, evening out your breaths as you stare at the office door. “You’ve got this,” you whisper to yourself before rolling your shoulders back, squaring them as your head rises with confidence once more. Exhaling any doubt, you knock on the door.

“Come in,” a tenor you were not expecting calls from the other side. The depth of his voice rattles you to the core, shaking your bones and momentarily freezing your blood. He sounds otherworldly.

Stepping inside the office, you nearly collapse to the ground at the sight in front of you. Sharply dressed in a light blue dress shirt, you can’t help to notice the way the material pulls and strains across his chest and arms. Broad shoulders, arms thick with unbelievably built muscle. Most noticeably, the familiarity in his viridian stare. The piercing gaze is far colder than you remember, but there’s not a single doubt in your mind that you’ve met this man before. His dark, olive-brown locks and perfectly tan skin. Plush lips set in a permanent straight line, face devoid of any readable expression.

Ushijima Wakatoshi. The name had evaded you for years, but seeing him now, face to face, you know  _ exactly  _ who he is. He may look nothing like his father, but you would never forget those eyes.

**_~*~*~*~*~_ **

_You stood beside your father, watching with a small frown as Utsui made long strides through the backyard of his home. It was not the first time you had been brought here, but just like every other, you and your father remained outside. A trip to Death’s house was uncommon, only occurring in the direst of situations. Or, at least, what his wife considered dire._

_ Not long after Utsui vanished into the depths of his abode, raised voices drifted under the cracks of the doors and open windows. Your father ‘tsk’-ed at the feud brewing inside, unimpressed with the couple’s dramatics. There were souls to collect, their marital affairs could certainly wait until after. _

_ When the back door to the house slid open, you expected to see Utsui sulking out. He always looked defeated after a feud with his wife, brown globes wide and glossy, a frown covering his lips like a kicked puppy. To your utter surprise, a young boy stepped out. His face remained unmoved as if the sound of his parents voicing their displeasure with the other meant nothing. But you could read the truth that danced behind his stare, lidded with disinterest. _

_ Before you can move forward to console him, your father placed a hand on your shoulder, keeping you locked in place. Looking up at him, all you were met with was his somberly shaking his head from side to side. A silent no, a sign not to interfere with something neither one was meant to witness. _

_ Unable to offer any aid, you watched from afar, heart-wrenching at his hidden pain. Helping those in need was something you had accepted, embracing the task with open arms. The deed was not limited to those who escaped their suits of flesh, but anyone in need. It was clear, whoever this boy was, was in desperate need or something, something, anything. As long as it provided a distraction from the undoing of his parents’ love and life, he had come to know between the two of them. _

**~*~*~*~*~**

Entering with a smile, everything about you radiates a friendly charm Ushijima is quick to overlook. Silky locks splayed down your back in soft waves, bright orbs full of excitement and warmth. He stands from his seat as you come closer, ready to step out from behind the barrier, only to stop as you reach over the desk with a hand extended towards him. It’s a friendly gesture, a common greeting, but he can’t help the way he hesitates to accept. “Ushijima-san, it’s a pleasure to meet you in person!” He nods, wrapping his hand around your own. Ushijima quickly notes how his hand engulfs yours with ease before giving the small appendage a shake.

“Ajisaki (Name), I’ve been expecting you.” Ushijima passes a glance to the clock that hangs above his office door. “You’re early.”

You grin, a sense of acknowledgment zipping through you at the simple observation, “I pride myself on punctuality!” It almost goes unnoticed the way your father’s esteemed claim rolls of your tongue. A line he was well known for giving whenever questioned on how he arrived so soon after a person had passed from the mortal realm. It’s enough to make Ushijima question if you know more than you should, but he quickly brushes it off. He motions for you to take a seat in one of the open chairs in front of his desk before reclaiming his own. A chill of dubious thrill pulsed through him as he pulls out a small packet of papers, setting them in front of you. Closing the top drawer to his desk, he tells you, “I just have a few things for you to sign before I show you around.” You nod, retrieving a pen from your pockets before getting to work on the basic contracts and clauses laid before you.

A knot forms in his throat as you begin skimming over the documents, hoping you don’t notice they are papers you have signed already. Standard contractual clauses under your human gaze, falsities hidden by supernatural powers to keep you from the reality of the contracts he has devised. His desire to crumble you so intense he would force you into a life of servitude under him, even if it meant he would have to deal with you until your spirit was demolished. Watching as you unwittingly sign your life away, he finds himself unable to keep from goading you. “Ajisaki, the last name is quite formidable in this field.” You hum, too busy searching for dotted lines to make conversation with him. “Your father was quite a notorious surgeon. Following in his footsteps?”

“I am,” if only you knew how much, though.

Ushijima forces himself to bite back a triumphant smirk as the ball of your pen scrolls over the last line of the files. He could drop the truth on you now, unload the severity of the deed you committed. Watching you dissolve under the crippling truth would be delicious, but Ushijima would much rather stick in for the long haul. The idea of watching you struggle, seeing mortification consume your features as the tortured souls of the hospital begged for release, was far more appealing. He had waited almost a decade for this moment, he could stand to maintain his patience.

Flipping back to the first page, you slide the stack closer towards him. Ushijima says nothing as he collects the documents, ensuring for himself that every line has been inked with your signature before returning them to the file inside his desk. “I’ll show you around.” The two of you stand, and it’s only at that moment you realize just how much larger he is than you. Not just in the way the man is built like a brick house, but he easily towers above you. Standing once more, you smile softly. His dress shirt is tucked into his pants, maroon slacks paired with brown dress shoes.

“ _ Handsome, _ ” you silently note to yourself as you quickly rove over his physique. Without another word spared, he moves towards the door of his office. His long legs carry him with ease, one of his steps easily equaling out to two of yours. Keeping up with him is a task in itself, practically speed walking to ensure you don’t fall too far behind his vigorous steps. Had you known any better, you would have seen the action as a simple, purposeful, inconvenience towards you. Something easily overlooked to any unwitting bystanders. It’s not like his loathing towards you was widely known, only his Reapers had the luxury of knowing his true feelings. To everyone else he came off aloof, completely uncaring towards your arrival in any way other than professional acceptance.

Even with his fast pace, it took Ushijima a solid three hours to give a tour of the hospital. There was no doubt in your mind that you would still be taking your time to get used to the layout of the hospital, the size completely overwhelming. Seijo was a large hospital, but it was dwarfed in comparison to Shiratorizawa. Luckily, there were more than a few helpful signs to guide visitors and patients around. Something you would be taking advantage of until becoming more familiar with the environment. 

“I don’t think it’s worth overthinking, Toru.” 

“I’m telling you, he has something against you.” You roll your eyes, indignantly picking at the food on your tray. He scoffs, “don’t roll your eyes at me!”

“You’re digging too deep,” you assert with confidence, staring down at the tiny picture of the brunette on your phone. You had video called him the moment Ushijima returned to his office, allowing you to break for lunch. 

“I’m right and I know it.” Oikawa looks off to the side, staring down a person you know is there, even if you can’t see him. “Iwa-chan, tell her I’m right!” 

“Shut up, Shittykawa,” he grumbles, serving a predictable thwack to the back of Oikawa’s head. The brunette whines, rubbing at the spot of impact before pouting at you through the phone. He quickly straights himself out, returning to her previous narrowed stare and minute scowl. 

“I’m telling you, I know the guy, he has something against you.” 

“I doubt it, you’re just saying that because -”

“She was smart enough to come to Shiratorizawa,” a voice from behind you sings. The sudden addition to your conversation makes you jump, not having heard anyone approach you. From the tiny icon that shows where you’re seated, you can see a cat-like grin spread across the face of a wide-eyed redhead. “Oikawa-san, you’re not still holding a grudge against our Wakatoshi, are you?” 

Oikawa scoffs, ignoring the tormenting question from the Pediatrician in favor of glaring at something off the screen. “I’ll talk to you later, (Name). I need to go.” He doesn’t give you enough time to utter the first syllable of a goodbye, ending the call just as the last word fell from his lips. You turn in your seat to face the excitable doctor that remains standing behind you, staring down with a vermillion gaze that feels equal parts curious and judgemental. 

“Ajisaki-san, I’ve heard  _ a lot  _ about you.”

“Oh, I -um-, t-thank you.” The pitched falter at the end makes the comment come across as more of a question, rightfully reflecting your uncertainty of the encounter. 

His round orbs roll over your body from head to toe, shamelessly taking in your full appearance before humming to himself. “Tendo Satori, I work on the fifth floor in the Peds unit.” 

“Ajisaki (Name), Trauma.” You laugh softly, tucking a stray hair behind your ear, “but I’m guessing you knew that already.” 

“Don’t mind Wakatoshi,” Tendo moves past your little introduction, instead deciding to jump to what he had heard during your video call with Oikawa. “He can be intimidating, but he doesn’t mean any harm. He’s just too serious for his own good.” Of course, Tendo knew just how on the mark Oikawa was in his assumptions, but there was no way he would allow the Plastic Surgeon to get into your head. Not when Ushijima was so close to finally reaping the rewards of his daunting efforts to repay you for his childhood trauma. 

“I have to ask,” an airy laugh bubbles from your throat, your nervousness evident in the way you avert your gaze from him, “do you have any tips on breaking the ice with him?” 

“Oh,” Tendo does little to hide the smile that nearly rips the flesh of his cheeks apart, but you’re oblivious to the malice his behavior exhumes. “Try talking to him about his dad. He’s Wakatoshi’s idol.” 

**~*~*~*~*~**

It had been two weeks working at the Shiratorizawa Medical Center before you finally had a chance to really speak with Ushijima. While most of the staff and your coworkers were easy to find and chat with, Ushijima was an enigma. Like a dark figure lurking in the shadows, he was hardly ever seen or heard. You started to question if he truly left his office, only ever catching a glimpse of him through the giant, bay windows that lined the wall of his office, allowing him to look out into the center of the hospital. Tendo had been kind enough to offer more information about Ushijima's father, but it felt unnecessary. You knew exactly who his father was, having worked with the man for nearly a year alongside your own father. Of course, it was nice to hear about what he had done when not dealing with the responsibilities of being Death. You only ever knew Utsui as Death, never who he was or what he was like outside of maintaining the order of life and death. 

“Ah, Ushijima-san!” Ushijima pauses outside his office door, shifting his gaze to the side to watch as you approach him. You smile as you come to a stop beside him, your hair pulled into a high ponytail with your black scrubs perfectly in place. How did you manage to look so composed? He knew you had three emergency surgeries this morning alone. “I was hoping I could speak with you if you have time.” 

He blinks, quickly, carefully debating indulging your request. You seem spritely, full of life and energy. It’s amazing, to say the least. From what he heard, all of your surgeries went swimmingly, the team you had worked with sang the praise of your attitude and natural skill, and it was easy to note how fond his employees are of you. It makes no sense. You’ve been a Reaper for two weeks, you should be strung out to the max. Performing surgeries should feel back-breaking and hallowing, adding to your exhaustion. Yet you stand before him, confident with a smile that beams friendliness. His own curiosity gets the better of him, “of course.” 

Over the weeks of working with him, the very rare times you managed to catch him left you feeling cold and hollow. Your resentment towards him was starting to build, slowly beginning to wonder if maybe Oikawa had been on the right track in his assumption. Still, you were determined to try to make friends with the Chief, even if he always dismissed you as nothing more than a gnat buzzing in his ear. Any passing comment he made towards you came across with a scathing bite of degradation and loathing, but everyone was quick to assure you that was just how Ushijima was. Kageyama was quick to tell you he noticed Ushijima was more ruthless in his behavior with you than others but shrugged it off as nothing more than trying to break in the new hire. It did nothing to settle the way your skin prickled with anxious impatience whenever you did manage to pass him, fully expecting some quick word of distaste or look that screamed to how much he detested you. 

You wanted to break the cycle of snide comments and harsh side-eyes, you wanted to gain his trust and respect. Even if a little part of you could feel bile sting the back of your throat at the thought. Ushijima is an easy man to dislike, his cold and aloof nature blindingly off-putting. Tendo had encouraged you to talk with him, though. Claiming you just needed common ground to meet each other on. He was certain Utsui was the answer to your distress. 

Ushijima is no more than halfway to his desk when the door to his office closes and you finally speak up. “I’ve heard a lot about your father, Utsui Takashi. He was the Chief here, too, right?” The question sends his body ramrod straight, muscles flexing under the strain of his quickly building fury. Under the white coat he still had on, the way his shirt pulls taunt is hidden, leaving you oblivious to how much your words have already affected him. “I hear he was an incredible surgeon. I imagine you following in his footsteps made him proud.” Why are you bringing up his father? Everyone knows he passed when Ushijima was just a child. If you were truly as knowledgeable about the subject as you claim, surely you knew that. Were you  _ trying  _ to piss him off? You continue to ramble, mindlessly talking of how amazing of a father Utsui must have been. You’re right, of course, but the compliments do nothing to soothe Ushijima’s irritation. Every word that falls from your mouth makes his blood hotter against his skin until he can feel himself boil over. 

“Your father was a surgeon, too.” It’s a statement, not a question, but you find yourself nodding with a smile to confirm the information. All it takes is a simple blink before you find Ushijima towering above you. Startled by just how quickly he moved into your space, oozing hatred so potent it chokes the air out of you, you jump back. Your back slams against his office wall and he is quick to follow your smaller frame, caging you between his arms as he snarls down at you. “You’ll never amount to anything. You’re a disgrace to the legacy your father left behind. A stain on the reputation of  _ my  _ hospital.” A lump forms in your throat, every trace of oxygen burning in your lungs as you hold your breath. He lowers his face closer to yours, hot breath scorching your skin just as his words do your heart. “You’re a good for nothing surgeon, skimping by on luck and the fact people are too distracted by your looks to care if you do your job well or not.” A growl reverberates from the back of his throat, low and gravely. “Never speak of my father, or any respectable surgeon in front of me again. Because next time,” his hand slams beside your head, the power in the minimal movement he made enough to rattle your brain, “I won’t be as kind.” He moves away from you, watching as tears of fear and anguish gather against your lash line. You quickly push past him, escaping the confines of his office in order to flee his dominating presence. 

The rest of the day passed in a silent war that seemed unnoticed by the other staff. Having overcome your initial shock at his behavior; any determination you had to better your relationship with Ushijima withered to nothing. You knew this was just the beginning of the battle between the two of you, but that was fine. If he was daring enough to attack you over a harmless compliment, you could play hardball, too.

You hated the way his cold words washed over you like a downpour of boiling water. The way they would cut and sting at your psyche, while at the same time making your thighs clench. It was truly despicable, the way his frigid demeanor made your body hot all over, your clit aching to be touched. Every snide comment you would throw in his direction only added fuel to the fire, making the tension between the two of you thicker and thicker until it would finally suffocate one of you out.

A moan of relief and blistering fury rings out as your fingers work against your bundle of nerves in tight, sloppy circles. You had thrown yourself down on your bed the moment you arrived home, eager to release any stress Ushijima had managed to cause you throughout the day. It didn’t help that the man was carved out of marble, a god walking among mere mortals.

You hated him, everything about him. The way he walked with such natural confidence and uncharted grace. The way his olive orbs flecked with spots of gold when in the sun. The way his tan skin seemed bronze when the golden rays of the rising or setting sun cast over him. The way he so easily brushed you off and casually undermined you in ways that others were quick to brush off as ‘Ushijima being in a mood.’ It wasn’t a mood, he has something against you, you were just yet to discover exactly what.

“Fuck,” your thighs twitch, inner walls contracting around nothing at the thought of him. How, even when he looked down at you as nothing more than a nuisance, he was ungodly beautiful. The power struggle between the two of you was mouthwatering, both determined to prove themselves as the top dog, but neither quite able to gain the upper hand. “Fucking prick,” you grunt through grit teeth, trying your best not to think of the earlier events at the hospital, but unable to will yourself to do so.

The image of him hovering above you is so fresh, like a newly formed wound. His arms trapping you between him and the wall, his soul-stealing gaze enough to make your panties wet with anticipation. He had stared down at you like a wolf ready to dive in for the kill, a creature of primal instinct fighting back every natural drive to devour the prey trapped beneath them.  _ Fuck _ , how you wish he had. You wanted him to grab you by the throat, tell you how useless you were to him and how hiring you had been the greatest mistake. You could practically feel his hot breath ghosting over your neck, prickling the skin as he whispered about how he only kept you around because you kept his dick hard and throbbing.

You wanted nothing more than for him to lift you against the wall and sink his cock into your awaiting hole, slick and craving the stretch you knew he would bring. Two of your fingers sink into your pussy, the quick burn of the sudden intrusion making you moan out in bliss. Quickly, you fuck yourself against your digits, curling them to hit that spongy spot inside of you perfectly. It was easy to imagine your fingers were Ushijima, using his cock as your own toy to get yourself off. His pleasure was the last thing on your mind, far more interested in your own release. In fact, if you could get off before him and leave him begging for a finish, you would be more than satisfied.

A final thrust of your fingers knuckle deep sends you over the edge, a jumbled combination of a curse and Ushijima’s name flying from your lips. Your chest heaves in the aftermath, body working itself down from a blissful high as a sudden wave of disbelief and nausea hit you. Fingering yourself to the thought of your horrendous boss was not something you expected to do, even worse, the way thinking of him made you come undone so easily. 

Damn him. 

**~*~*~*~*~**

Weeks went by with you working in the hospital, dominating the trauma department, and gaining favor with most of your colleagues. Either you were impossible to crack, or your jovial mask was concrete. There was no doubt in Ushijima’s mind that you had to have been approached by roaming spirits, tortured by their torment at their inability to move on due to the ignorance you had of your position. He had been wracking his brain over it, the cogs working at warp speed to piece every possibility together. Nothing fit, a puzzle with mismatched pieces that would not connect no matter how hard he tried. 

At his wit’s end, he settles for a different approach. “Ohira,” he calls out into the depths of his empty office. No more than a few seconds later, soft fog tornadoes in the center of the room, clearing away to leave behind a tall male. Ushijima looks over him, stopping to meet with optics so rich brown they teeter on the edge of ebony. “I need you to keep an eye on Ajisaki for me.” 

“Anything I should look for in particular?” 

“Her interactions with lost souls.” 

“Hm?” Ohira stretches, long, deep tan arms reaching high above his head, “I thought Goshiki was collecting them?” 

“He is supposed to once they get restless, but I have not heard any reports from him.” Ohira waves the comment off, a gesture as to say the lack of communication is nothing to worry over. Both males know how much the junior reaper is aching to prove himself as someone Death can depend on, eager to even become his right hand. Without another word, the reaper vanishes, moving on to complete his task of spying on the unwitting, unwillingly joined reaper. 

“Good morning, Ahiko-san,” the white-haired woman looks up at the young doctor, frowning at the cheerful greeting. 

“Dr. Ajisaki,” the response is somber, a small, forced smile all she can muster in return. For once, the elder patient is not sure what to say to the young doctor. She watches with tired eyes as you saunter over to the curtains, pushing them aside to allow the sunlight to seep into the hospital room. 

“I’m surprised to find you here still,” you state with a questioning lilt, focus temporarily stuck to the courtyard a few stories below the room you stand-in. 

“Oh!” Ahiko sits up on the edge of the bed, previously slouched position more erect as her surprise overcomes her features. “So, you know, then?” 

You turn around, a calming smile plastered to your mouth as you give a gentle, confirming hum. You move from in front of the window to stand in front of your patient, “I do. Which means, you know I have to ask, what are you still doing here?” 

“Well,” her mocha orbs narrow in consideration, accentuating her crow’s feet and the wrinkles of her forehead. “I suppose I didn’t want to leave without seeing you one more time.” Shifting her attention to meet the direct stare you give her, chocolate orbs merging with your own. Ahiko reaches out a hand, eternally grateful when she feels the skin of your hand grace her own, “I wanted to thank you for everything. You did everything you could.” 

“But it wasn’t enough.” She stifles a chuckle at your comment, bringing her free hand up to pat it against the back of your hand that remains locked in her own. 

“It’s alright, dear. It just means that it was my time.” 

Releasing a bitter laugh, eyes brimmed with tears of remorse and aggravation, “you have no idea how on the nose that comment is.” You take a seat on the bed, your shoulder an inch away from the older woman. 

“What happens now?” 

“That’s up to you. Most chose to move on, on their own. Some decide to stick around, but you won’t get to for long.” 

“Someone else will come for me?” You only nod in reply. Ahiko hums curiously, thinking over the choices she has. In the few hours she’s spent outside of her body, she’s felt a pulse that seems to reverberate from the core of the universe, trying to pull her towards it. It feels impossible to evade, like knowing meeting her final fate is impossible one way or another. She does not fear it, at peace with her life and the decisions she has made; she knows who she is and where she will go in the end. “I’d rather you be the last face I see.” Ahiko stands, her knees silent, free of the painful creak they made when she had a physical body. Every ache has given way to nothingness, but to her, it feels like bliss. With her back to you, she stares out the window, focused on the cloudless sky that lingers above. It feels closer than normal, like an attainable destination than some far-off tale in a book. You watch in silent relief as your deceased patient strides deeper into the rays of bright white, her figure becoming transparent the farther she travels, until it is just you in an empty room. 

**~*~*~*~**

“Goshiki!” The young reaper flinches, the heated rasp his name is spoken with traveling up his spine and across his shoulders. He spins on his heels, raven tresses whipping across his forehead as he turns to face his superior. Ushijima stands before him, his face aloof, but there’s a raging fire behind earthy eyes that the reaper cannot overlook. Crossing two large arms over a broad chest, he asks, “why have you not been reporting to me?” 

“There’s nothing to report,” he squeaks, unable to ignore the way the size of the Angel dwarfs him. 

“I expected you to tell me how many souls you’ve been collecting.” 

“No more than usual, sir.” There is a faint break in Ushijima’s normally indifferent expression, his dark brows creasing as his nose crinkles in disbelief. “Maybe less, if I’m being honest.” 

“Impossible,” Ushijima mutters under his breath, brushing past Goshiki to return to his office. Goshiki says nothing to stop him, lost in his own wind of confusion from the interaction. 

Upon storming into his office, he finds Ohira leaning against the front of his desk, a scowl stuck to his lips. Bad news, is all Ushijima can think to himself, wordlessly urging the reaper to speak. 

“I spoke with Goshiki.”

“As did I.” 

“Then you know?”

“I’m not sure if I do.” 

Ohira bobs his head slowly, lips pursing as he searches for the best way to explain. He knows Ushijima prefers blunt, direct explanations, “she’s doing her job as a reaper.” 

“Not possible,” he scoffs, completely in denial of the claim. 

“I watched her do it. She saw me.” Ushijima can feel the clench in his chest as his pulse skips a beat before slamming against him in the restart. “I thought she was looking past me, but we made eye contact. Direct eye contact. Like she was telling me she knew I, or someone, was watching.” 

Ushijima’s hands ball into tight fists by his side, “fuck. Fuck!” This was an unforeseen mishap in his carefully crafted plan. How could a simple mortal - “Ohira,” his foot taps twice, a twitchy response to his jumping nerves, “is she mortal or not?” 

“From what I can tell, she is. Could this be from making her a reaper?” 

“No,” Ushijima moves to sit in his chair behind his desk, hands folding against the surface top. Reapers were useless as humans, unable to communicate with those who had moved on from the physical world. Spirits could be seen, heard, and felt, but it was near impossible for a mortal to properly interact with them. That was the entire point of making you a reaper, souls would seek you out, begging for you to help them, but you would be useless to them. It was meant to be punishment, tormenting you to say you could not help them on this plain or another. You were utterly useless. Yet, here you were, getting souls to move on beyond limbo. Fulfilling your duty as a reaper. 

Ushijima looked up at the clock above his office door; 8:30 pm, your shift was over. Rising from his chair, he tells Ohira with an ominous timber, “I’ll get to the bottom of this.”

**~*~*~*~**

Your last surgery left you covered in crimson, flesh tacky with the grime of being overworked and stains of cracking, dried blood. Opting to shower before leaving to spare the other travelers on the train the misfortune of witnessing your day in visible detail against your appearance, you find yourself in the empty locker room with a towel secured around your torso. 

You smirk, a gust of wind raising goosebumps along your bare, damp legs. You turn, coming face to face with the man that held a vendetta against you. Death himself stared down at you; olive orbs narrowed dangerously on your much smaller frame. “Took you longer than expected.”

“How?” 

“Which part?” You cross your arms over your chest, an act of impatient annoyance as much as it was a way to keep warm in the cool temperature of the locker room. For no context, you were able to expertly decipher what he was asking. 

“How do you communicate with them?” 

“By talking, obviously.” 

A growl resonates in the back of his throat, taking a threatening step closer to you. “Do not play coy with me.” 

“I’m not,” you reply in a smooth voice, unfazed by his scare tactic. “I see them, I talk to them, and they move on. That’s how it’s always worked.” 

“How?” 

“I just do.” He snarls at you before pressing your back into the lockers, the cool, smooth wood pressing into your flesh. He keeps you pinned with a forearm secured at the base of your neck, a simple roll of his wrist the only thing necessary to shift his weight and crush your windpipe. “Oh, do it,” you chuckle, a wild gleam radiating from your lidded glare. “I would love to see Ushijima Wakatoshi lose his otherworldly shit over a human.” 

His voice comes out a low hiss, “I will kill you. Right here, right now.” 

“Do it! Ruin the natural order. I fucking dare you.” The mention of the natural order removes a few pounds of pressure from your chest, but the power behind his hold is still deadly. Your smugness is palpable, a cocky smirk taking place of your curled lip, “yeah, that’s what I thought.” His free hand tangles into your damp locks, fisting them roughly to jerk your body forward before slamming you against the lockers once again. 

“I swear to you, I’ll end you. I will watch the life and blood drain from you until you’re a rotting corpse left and forgotten. As my father should have done with you.” 

Your hand shoots under his arm, snaking up his back before your fingers latch around the nape of his neck, dull nails biting into the bronze skin. Craning your neck forward in an effort to enter his space, you ground out a throaty, “fuck you.” 

A surge of resentment and need for power he seems to lack over you takes control of his movements, encouraging him to slant his lips against your own. The shock of his behavior makes your body go lax, dropping all defenses for a split second. Feeling that same burn of unresolved tension, your fingers dig in more aggressively before returning the kiss. Weeks of back and forth glances, subtly snide remarks and unspoken knowledge build in a pool of fire in the pit of your stomach. You hate him for hating you, despise that he can’t get over something you’re unaware of, loath the way you know he wants you to suffer for a crime you’re not aware he believes you committed. But you can’t deny the way his cold gaze creates flutters in your gut; a feeling you desperately wish to drown in stomach acid.

His hand slides up, roughly grabbing at your jaw, curling your tiny mandible in his enormous hand, and forcing you to turn to look off to the side. Hot lips blaze across your jaw and chin before he nips a line of dominance down the column of your throat. He leaves no marks, not anywhere visible. He couldn’t care less about leaving a claim on you, he only has his own need for release in mind. The feeling of his hot breath and slick tongue against your sensitive skin makes you mewl, an unintentional reaction to the dreaded pleasure building in your core. 

Every part of your being is screaming at you to hate the way he touches you, moves you around of his own volition, but the slick building between your thighs is the true testament to how much you want it to continue. 

The hand against your jaw moves down, wrapping around your throat with ease. His other hand rips the towel from around your body, carelessly throwing it off to the side before his middle finger is dragging through the juices that have gathered at your lower lips. Feeling how aroused you are just by being manhandled elicits a throaty chuckle from Ushijima, “a waste as a surgeon, but at least you’ll make a decent cocksleeve.” 

Your blood burns with fury at the comment, but as your lips part to throw out a defense, all that leaves is a squeak. Ushijima bends down, wrapping his arms around your thighs before hoisting you up, your bare crotch pressed firmly against his clothed one with your back still firm against the lockers. A defiant growl creeps past your teeth, “that implies having a cock decent enough to satisfy.” 

Ushijima just chuckles, not bothered by your words in the least as he undoes his belt and pants. You don’t look down to watch as he pulls himself free, too busy hoping the acidic glare you shoot at his is enough to burn through flesh. He’s already rock hard, but that doesn’t stop him from pumping his fist over his length, using the moment to bring his face so close to yours that your noses touch, “I’ll split you in half, human.” 

Any rebuttal dies in your throat, eyes bursting with fluid as your jaw drops. Ushijima didn’t bother to prep you, much rather preferring to sheath his entire cock into your wet walls and stretch you to your limit. He does exactly that, the girth of his dick creating a biting sting that makes you squirm against him, almost desperate to flee from the sensation. His length is immeasurable, reaching deeper into you than any man prior. You can feel the bulbous head resting against your cervix. 

“Fucking asshole,” you hiss through grit teeth, your head falling back from the painful burn pulsing against your unready cunt. Determined to make him suffer the same misery, you rock your head forward, crashing your forehead into his nose. He rips his head to the side, snarling at the sensation of thick liquid quickly seeping from his nostrils. There’s a hot lick of condensation against your throat, like steam from a boiling pot, before you feel icy metal pressed against you. Your eyes strain downwards to see the scythe pressed meticulously against your carotid, a lingering promise of his earlier threat to bleed you dry. 

Ushijima pulls back, withdrawing half of his throbbing cock before slamming it back into you. The strangled gasp the movement wrings out of you makes his member twitch, fully immersed in your pain. “Pussy,” you seethe, once more locking your eyes with his. “Can’t fuck me right or even grow the balls to kill me.” 

“Is that what you want?” He moves the blade the fraction of a hair across your skin, just enough to watch crimson blood in the wake. A feral smirk spreads across his lips when he feels you flutter around him, your eyes scrunching with the sting, but your lips part to let out a breathy moan. “How cute,” he muses with a teasing lilt, burying his face against your neck to lap at the blood dripping down your neck. The residual sin of his slick muscle moving against the wound only makes you moan, hips bucking against his massive cock in desperate need of friction. The initial burn from him stretching you out so suddenly has faded, leaving you needy for more. 

“Just fuck me, already!” It comes out a whiny demand, more of a plea than anything. He grunts, be it from irritation at your attempt for control or because the way your hot, wet walls wrapped around him, fruitlessly moving in need of stimulation have him wound up, you don’t know. Truly, you don’t care. You just want his fat cock to make you cum. The pace he sets is fast and brutal, battering your cervix with enough force to bruise. You wail at the mix of pain and pleasure, nails digging into the fabric of his dress shirt as you hold on for dear life. 

Pleasure blooms in your core like spring flowers, so quick you can hardly recall the moment it happened. The drag of his iron pipe through your gummy walls makes you a moaning mess, unable to hide the bliss overcoming you. He pulls the curved edge of his blade across the junction of your neck and shoulder, moving his mouth to once more lick and suck at the mark carved into your flesh. 

“Fuck! I’m -ah, oh shit- I’m gonna cum!” Ushijima pistons in and out of you with reckless abandon, the force of his thrusts leaving your thighs blistering red. Just on the cusp of orgasm, your head drops back, eyes already rolling as flashes of white dot your vision. You’re so close, the string in your core pulled so taunt the slightest of ministrations will fray it completely. 

Just when you’re about to hurdle over the edge of euphoria, Ushijima pulls out of you, no matter how much he wishes to stay buried in your pussy. He cock ruts between your thighs until he groans, ropes of white coating the locker. “You’re a fucking prick,” you hiss at him before he releases you to tuck himself away and adjust his pants. 

With your backs turned to one another, you begin to redress, but your curiosity gets the better of you, forcing a break in the thick silence, “you said ‘like your father should have.’ What did that mean?” 

Ushijima keeps his back to you, not bothering to face you to answer, “he gave up his life to save yours. You were shot when you were younger, dying of blood loss. He restored your soul rather than reaping you.” 

“W-wait!” You spin, staring intently at his back, “Takashi - he gave up his life for me?” 

“Yes.” His head turns to crane over his shoulder, carefully observing you as his father’s name registers in his mind, “you knew him?” 

“Of course,” you straddle the bench he is perched on, “I’ve always seen spirits. When my father passed, I saw him, too. I wanted to spend time with him, so I would help him collect those who were ready to move on. Our fathers were close, I met Takashi often.” Your hand subconsciously runs over your stomach, where you had been shot as a child. Ushijima knew the bullet clipped your celiac artery. “I wasn’t aware he- I thought he decided he’d let me move on after my father was murdered.” 

“The penalty for meddling with the natural order is execution.” 

A grunt of displeasure rolls from the back of your throat, even if you already knew that bit of information. Standing and retrieving the rest of your belongings, you offer an olive branch to the new Angel of Death, “then I suppose I own him for his sacrifice, no?” Closing the locker and moving towards the exit, you call over your shoulder, “I’ll be a reaper he would be proud of.”


End file.
